


Chasing Shadows

by kay_be



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Chasing Shadows - Freeform, Clexa, Clexa fanfic, College AU, F/F, Hockey lexa, Shenanigans, The 100 Femslash, clexa au, clexa college au, clexa fanfiction, clexa femslash, drunk college, kay_be, rugby Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_be/pseuds/kay_be
Summary: Clarke woke up later that morning to a grumbling Octavia, “Clarke, I think I lost my shadow.”
“Again, O?” Clarke mumbled from her spot tucked between the side of the futon and Octavia.
“Will you help me find it?”
“Of course,” Clarke responded as the two friends continued to drift in hung-over lethargy.
“OH!” Octavia sat up before swearing and laying back down slowly. “Did you get that girl’s number?”
Clarke froze. The rest of the night flashing back in pieces. Lips, green, lips, brown, lips. Fuck. That girl had been so shy and so hot. She bolted up from the futon ignoring Octavia’s protests as well as her body’s and sprinted up the stairs for her phone. Grabbing it off her nightstand she opened her texts, nothing. Fuck. She squinted at the small screen, clicking on her contacts and painstakingly scrolling through. Double fuck. She groaned as she slowly made her way back down the stairs, clutching the handrail for support. She suddenly felt deeply disappointed in herself and sort of like she needed to vomit. 
OR 
College AU where Clarke meets a hot shy hockey player who shows up at a party at her apartment, but she doesn't catch her name.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Clexa fic - Let me know what you think!
> 
> Rated Mature swearing, drunken shenanigans, and future smut.  
> I do not own the characters - just appreciate.

“I’m dying,” greets Clarke as she clomps down the stairs of her apartment, along with groans from under the pile of blankets on the futon. Clarke grunts in acknowledgment, her fuzzy brain vaguely registering the much cleaner state of the downstairs as she takes heavy steps through the living room to the kitchen. She side steps a dancing, cleaning Raven with headphones in and rubber duck yellow gloves on as her feet hit linoleum. Proud of her quick reflexes in her current hung-over state, she only has a slight possibly-still-drunk wobble as she reached her goal. Rummaging around in the blessedly cool air of the refrigerator for her target she tries to ignore everything that inhabited her current surroundings: her obnoxiously active roommate, the music she could still here from headphones, the other roommate currently a blanket monster in the living room, the audacity of the bright sunlight pouring through the windows. She wraps her fingers around the bottle of Pedialyte victoriously and hip checks the door closed. Gatorade was for the weak. 

Walking back into the living room she closes her eyes in relief as she swigs the cool liquid straight from the bottle, navigating her way around the coffee table without looking down and plopping herself onto the futon. The blankets grumbles again. “Clarke, I’m literally dying over here,” Octavia’s face appearing from the depths of red and black college sweatshirt blankets, “I would appreciate a bit more concern.”

“I would be more apt to have sympathy if you two hadn’t woken me up at 6am on a Saturday,” Clarke retorts, plastic bottle hovering inches from her mouth. “You know that’s not normal right? We went to bed at…” Clarke scrunched her face up trying to remember, “Three am?”

“Four,” Octavia corrects doing her best Oscar the Grouch as she sat up slightly, plucking the electrolytes out of the blonde’s hand and taking a swig. She makes a face, “Ugh, I hate the fruit punch.”

“Then buy it yourself next time,” Clarke swipes the bottle back and sips it, wiping her mouth with the collar of her rugby t-shirt. “Wait really? Four am?” she gives her roommate a look, “You’re telling me you woke me out of a very drunken slumber after only 2 hours?!”

“We just woke up,” Octavia shrugs. They always did this. 

“You do realize it is not normal to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and drunkenly clean, right?”

“Well, two to one in this house,” Octavia states nodding her head toward a still cleaning Raven. She must still be drunk. “So if anything you’re the abnormal one. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the end result, but do you have to blare music while you do it? There are other people here, normal people who like to sleep off a drunken night for more than two hours.”

“You can’t clean without music, Clarke.” Octavia says matter-of-factly as she falls back onto the futon, a pained expression reappearing on her face. “Too much talking.”

Clarke sighs and places the bottle on the floor before snuggling up next to Octavia on the futon, she needed her sleep and here was a much better prospect than hiking back upstairs.

 

\--

 

She woke up later that morning to a grumbling Octavia, “Clarke, I think I lost my shadow.”

“Again, O?” Clarke mumbles from her spot tucked between the side of the futon and Octavia. She must have shifted from the middle of a drunk – hung-over van diagram to solidly hung-over. “That rough of a night for you?”

“Will you help me find it?”

“Of course,” She rubs the sleep from her eyes. “Wait if you lost your shadow how do you remember we went to bed at 4am?”

“I remember 4am, just not between about the time we kicked the jungle juice and kicking everyone out.” Clarke nods, remembering the baseball boys claiming Raven’s concoction of juice, fruit, and the cheapest vodka available weak. She smirks also remembering them later that night pissed as shit. It was a successful rugby party. “OH!” Octavia sits up before swearing and laying back down slowly. “Did you get that girl’s number?”

Clarke froze. The rest of the night coming back in pieces. Lips, green, lips, brown, lips. Fuck. That girl had been so shy and so hot. She bolts up from the futon ignoring Octavia’s protests as well as her body’s and sprints up the stairs for her phone. Grabbing it off her nightstand she opens her texts, nothing. Fuck. She squints at the small screen, clicking on her contacts and painstakingly scrolling through. Double fuck. 

She groans as she slowly trudges back down the stairs, clutching the handrail for support. She suddenly felt deeply disappointed in herself and sort of like she needed to vomit. Too much movement, not enough sleep. Clarke notices Octavia’s dress from last night on the ground next to the futon as she crawls back into her spot between the brunette and the back. She squints at the article of clothing. “O, why is your dress on the ground?”

“Took it off. Passed out in it. Hate clothes.”

Clarke narrows her eyes, turning her head to inspect the friend she was currently cuddled up with. “O…are you…am I…are you not…are you naked? Have I been unknowingly cuddling a naked Octavia all morning?” Realizing the only parts of Octavia she had seen emerge from the pile of blankets was her head and at one point a hand.

“Not naked.”

“Okay.” She pauses, “How not naked?”

“Underwear.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Typical. They’d all seen Octavia naked at one point or another. She was like that toddler who didn’t believe in clothing and figured out how to take it off themselves, with the same level of shame: none. If you were a friend you’d seen the goods. She pauses again. “Bra?”

“Overrated.”

Clarke can't help but laugh, grimacing at the headache it sparks. “Were you even wearing one last night?”

“Nope.”

Clarke laughs again, holding her head.

 

\--

 

When she wakes up again Raven is passed out in the recliner next to the futon. Well, recliner was a generous term. Raven had found it at a yard sale the summer before. Clarke tries her best to not sit in it. According to Raven she bought it off some lezzers who were uhauling. The chair was a brown tweed that looked like it was new in 1980 and it vibrated. Yes, vibrated. It had been an alarming discovery one day for them, and the boys next door who suddenly thought they were experiencing their first earthquake. Also, it didn’t actually recline so much as tilt you back and your hips up. It was hard to explain, but Clarke didn’t want to think of the things that must have happened on it. Raven who was currently tilted back, hips up, and mouth open, loved it.

Clarke shifts to carefully extradite herself from the futon when she realizes the pile of blankets next to her is empty. As if on queue Octavia opens the front door, sweaty in leggings and a sports bra. She removes her headphones, “Oh good, you’re finally up.”

“You are a crazy person.” Clarke says as she rubs her face with the heals of her palms, feeling marginally better than the last time she was awake. “How much did you just run?”

“Only five miles,” Octavia shrugs, “Hey, at least I found my shadow, no thanks to you, by the way.”

Clarke laughs, “Where was it?”

“Somewhere around mile four,” Octavia answers seriously, “Anyway, I’m glad you’re up though, I’m starving.”

Clarke nods, suddenly aware of the hangry monster clawing at her stomach. “The diner?”

“Yes!” Octavia throws her phone on the coffee table. “Let me just grab a shirt, Gus won’t serve me without one.” She adds with a grumble as she heads up the stairs. Octavia had learned that the hard way one morning. Gustus, the owner of the diner they frequented in town was serious about his ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule, not that Clarke could blame him, especially in a college town.

“Should we wake her up?” Clarke nods toward the slumbering Raven once Octavia was back downstairs.

“No way. She is going to be such a cranky bitch when she wakes up. She was drunk cleaning til like seven this morning.”

Clarke looks at her at her clunky watch, its hands falling just past eleven in the morning. “Good point.”

“We’ll just get her something to go.”

Clarke nods in agreement as she grabs her keys and they head out the door.

 

\--

 

Clarke holds on to her mug of coffee, fingers wrapped around the warmth, as if it were a life line. She inhales the delicious sent and sighs. “Honestly, if someone could figure out how to make coffee actually taste as good as it smelled, I could die happy.”

Octavia nods appreciatively as she adds a packet of sugar to her own mug. 

“The usual ladies?” A large man with a beard and tattoos asks standing at the edge of their booth. 

“Yes please,” Clarke states with gratitude, neither girl even bothers with the pretense of opening their menus. “Gus, has anyone ever told you you’re a god?”

He laughs, “Not yet today.”

“Well, there you go.” Clarke smiles as Gus walks away and she sips her cream diluted coffee. Gus was the unsung hero of this town as far as Clarke was concerned. They met the man one very hung-over morning freshman year and have only come to his breakfast establishment since. As a former rugby player of their university he also attended all of their and the guys home games. Without greeting, he would bring a pitcher of water over with menus and once he knew your coffee order, that too. 

“So,” Octavia says once they are a glass of water and half a coffee down, “Who was that girl? Get any texts yet?”

Clarke groans, “I don’t know! And no!”

Octavia gawked at her, “Seriously?” 

Clarke shuts her eyes as she drops her head down onto the chipped linoleum table with a thud. “Seriously. I looked in every nook and cranny in my phone, and nothing.”

Octavia lets out a whistle, “Damn girl. You two were all cuddled up like a coffee date.”

“Really?” Clarke shifts her head to look up at her friend, trying to remember the details of the night. She recalls a gorgeous brunette she didn’t know all of a sudden being in her living room. Glasses, green green eyes, the most kissable lips she’d ever seen, ridiculously defined arms in a hockey t-shirt. They had talked…well, Clarke had talked a lot, the girl seemed shy but enthusiastically nodded along. Hockey t-shirt! “She’s on the hockey team!”

“Ohh, that makes sense,” Octavia says, “A bunch of the women’s team crashed a little before the jungle juice kicked.” She adds as she pulls out her phone,” I remember one of them saying they’d lost the semi-finals, so their drinking ban was over and they were all looking to make up on lost time and disappointment.”

Clarke nods, that made sense. 

“So, name?” Octavia asks, eyebrows raised as their food is placed in front of them.

Clarke opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water.

“Clarke,” Octavia munches on a mouth full of toast, “Do not tell me you didn’t even get her first name?”

“No,” Clarke argues, “no, I definitely…I had to of…of course I got her name…it’s…” she opens and closes her mouth again, “Fuck!”

“Well that’s an interesting name.”

Clarke holds her head in her hands, elbows propped on the table. There is no way she didn’t get this girls name. “How can I not remember her name?”

“You could ask Nala? She’s on the hockey team right?”

Clarke shoots Octavia a look, “Her name is Niylah. And oh yeah, that’s not super rude or anything. ‘Hey friend, who I occasionally booty call even though I know you want to be more and I actively ignore that fact because you let me. What’s the name of that super hot shy teammate of yours?’”

“You’re right, Simba chose Nala,” Octavia replies, “But hey, then at least you’d know her name right? And besides, you haven’t called Nala for a midnight snack since last semester, she should have gotten the hint by now.”

Clarke suddenly looks guilty.

Octavia squints suspiciously at her friend. “…Clarke? You haven’t? You told me you swore of 4th meals with her.”

Clarke grumbles into the remaining crust of her toast.

“I’m sorry what was that, I couldn’t hear you over the guilt you’re choking on.”

“I said,” Clarke sighs dropping the corner of her toast, “I may have called her once or twice this semester.”

“Clarke!”

“What?” Clarke defends, half heartedly, “It’s not like I ever ask for anything more, there is no false hope being given here…and I was horny, and feeling lazy. Whatever, it was straight forward.”

Octavia hums a noise of disapproval, placing her fork down, “Okay so Nala’s out.”

“Niylah.”

“Whatever,” Octavia waves off, “We could ask Raven? She’s friends with Anya.”

“No, I don’t know Anya, if we go asking a teammate it’ll get back to hot hockey player that I don’t even remember her name.”

“Thanks Gus,” Octavia says, turning her attention away from the blonde across from her as he clears their finished plates. “Can we get Raven’s usual order to go and then just the check?”

“We don’t do flapjack attack’s on Saturdays, and we don’t do them as to-go orders any day.”

Clarke laughs as Octavia rolls her eyes, “Raven’s other usual order.”

“Right,” Gus smirks as he jots down the new order before tearing the check from his pad and placing it on the table. “Coming right up ladies.”

Octavia picks her phone up off the table, “You know Clarke, it’s a good thing you are friends with geniuses.” Clarke stares at Octavia tapping away on her phone.

“I thought Raven was the only certified genius in this group?” Clarke quips.

Octavia smirks at the screen of her phone. “I’m sorry,” her tone of mock hurt, holding her phone to her chest like a hand of cards, “Did you want to know hot hockey players name or not?”

Clarke froze, staring at the brunette across from her. “How?”

Octavia rolles her eyes, “Honestly, I do not get the credit I deserve,” she slides her phone over. Clarke stares down at a sports photo of said hot hockey player. “All team rosters are on the university website. How do you think I learned Lincoln’s name so I could stalk him?” Clarke gapes at her friend before turning her attention back to the picture on the screen, unframed green eyes staring back up at her, she reads the name underneath: Lexa Woods. Clarke smiles, Lexa, that sounded familiar.

“You should facebook her.”

Clarke looks up at Octavia like she was a crazy person.

“What? You guys talked, that’s not weird.” 

“I can’t.” Clarke says as she dropped some cash onto the table.

“You’re hopeless,” Octavia says, grabbing Raven’s to go order and coffee. “What are you going to do, just hope she’ll randomly show up at a party at our place again?”

Clarke shrugs, that is exactly what she was planning on doing. Octavia rolls her eyes, “Hopeless, Griffin, hopeless.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey!” Raven shouts over the music, they are mid game, “Team Gay, stop being so gay and shoot a fucking ball!” She looks over at her two teammates, currently making out enthusiastically. She swats a ball that bounces on the table then dives after it underneath and into the battle ground between their table and the other teams, wrapping her hand around the ping pong ball in a spectacular layout that would make Harry Potter in a finals quidditch match against Slytherin proud. She crawls back to their table and takes a breath. “I swear to Steve Jobs, if I lose my undefeated title in civil war because you two finally got your shit together, there is a river out back and no one will find the bodies.” She huffs as she tosses the ball and sinks another cup. “Ha! Take that!” She woops, “Damn I’m good.”
> 
> OR
> 
> The three amigos have another party the following weekend. Clarke hopes a certain hot shy hockey player makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter certainly got away from me. Longer than I anticipated and I didn't even cover everything in my outline. Good news? I have a good chunk of what will be chapter 3 now written. 
> 
> I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. On that note: writer seeking beta - if anyone is interested
> 
> Rated Mature swearing, drunken shenanigans, and future smut.  
> I do not own the characters - just appreciate.

“Hey!” Raven shouts over the bass of the music shaking the small space of their college apartment. She had hand built the sound system that rocked their end unit, along with their unlucky neighbors. “What are the two rules of this apartment?” Grabbing the plastic light saber out of the rookie’s hand she points the glowing tip at the girl.

The rookie cowers slightly before shooting her adversary a look. Clarke couldn’t tell which belonged to the dark side, but her money was on Octavia, green light saber swishing through the air.

“Don’t sleep with Collins?”

A bark of a laugh leaves Octavia’s lips; she sports a wicked grin. Clarke couldn’t help but shake her head. Octavia was always making up new rules for the rookies, this one, while hitting close to home, Clarke had to admit was one of her better inventions.

The twitch in the corner of Raven’s hard mouth made Clarke think she agreed. “The two official rules.” 

“Don’t ask questions,” the rookie answers immediately.

“And?”

“No light saber fights in the house…” the second comes out a bit more reluctantly.

“Correct,” Raven lightly jabs the girl in her chest, glowing blue tip pressing in the closed loop of the ‘g’ in rugby on her shirt. “All light saber fights must be taken outside.” Tapping the tip to emphasis each word. The rookie lowers her head looking slightly scared and appropriately apologetic. Raven excepts it before moving on to her next target. “And you,” she rounds, waving the weapon at the other guilty party, “A rookie is one thing, but I expect more out of you. You live here! You created the rules with me, Clarke, and a bottle of Jose our first night here. Honestly, O.”

Octavia mumbles something that sounds insincere, knocking down the blue tip Raven’s confiscated the light saber.

“Out!” Raven points to the backdoor, ignoring Octavia’s provocation. The dining room, while open to the living room was tiny, barely enough space for the round table with its four chairs and Raven’s supped up base in the corner. The wall that didn’t lead to the kitchen or the back, was covered in rolls of paper, quotes sporadically inked on it in different color marker. You earned a spot on the wall when you said something funny enough or stupid enough. The three roommates marveled at how a drunken idea from Jose rule night, turned into this generally respected hallmark. The rookie’s dreamed of making it onto the wall and even boys seemed to hold it in regard; it was magically devoid of the usual penis and boob drawings that adorned any clean public canvas. If that wasn’t respect, Clarke didn’t know what was. “Out!” Raven repeats, “Or I’m revoking mixed drink privileges.” The rookie gingerly takes back the blue light saber before dashing out of the dining room and into the back lawn, Octavia hot on her heels.

“Children,” Raven grumbles to Clarke, like an old man chasing kids off of her yard. She closes the door as Clarke emerges from the safety of the kitchen laughing.

It’s a comforting chaos, the middle hours of a college party. Nursing what was not her first beer of the night, she leans against the door jam to the kitchen and just watches. Raven weaves through bodies dancing and laughing, slapping their next door neighbor Monty on the ass before disappearing back down into the basement where drinking games were being won and lost. Her eyes wander across the living room again, as if staring at the front door hard enough could will a certain person to appear through it.

In general, Clarke Griffin had a lot of hope. Happenstance, serendipity, fate: were all beautiful, were all real. And she believed that hot shy hockey player from last weekend had been placed in her living room by the gods themselves, just for her. She wasn’t looking for marriage or anything quite so serious, but a body like that should be worshipped. And Clarke was a willing sacrifice. So she had kept her head up in the beginning of the week assuming she’d run into the girl somewhere on the small campus, but she hadn’t. As the week went on, the casual glance became more purposeful, like a life guard on duty she would scan the mass of bodies as classes would end and students flooded the hallways, pop her head up mid study at a table in the library. It was a bit desperate really, but she wouldn’t admit that. There was also facebook, as Octavia would remind her with an exasperated look as Clarke strained her neck to see the faces of the surrounding study tables, but facebook wasn’t very romantic. And Clarke was hopeful, it was fate. 

So she pinches herself to make sure this isn’t an intro into yet another dream she’d fantasied all week. Staring across the length of her apartment, through the sway of bodies, like seaweed in a tide, she watches her come in, again with a pack of hockey girls. It amuses Clarke how sports teams seem to invade parties in pack formations, ruggers were no different. Resisting the urge to immediately walk up to hot hockey player, she waits. Remaining in her spot leaning against the door jam to the kitchen and just watches the girl in glimpses through the breathes between bodies. Glasses, those lips, a different hockey t-shirt, skinny jeans Clarke wants to write a thank you note to the manufacturer of.

Blue eyes follow hot hockey player as she approaches. A partially empty six pack of bottles dangling from one hand. Clarke adds prepared and thoughtful to the mental list of attributes she was greedily compiling of the girl. They joined words like green and polite and arms. Every new descriptor making her more attractive.

“Hello, Klark” she says quietly, stopping in her personal space with a small smile and a nod. She places the partially drunken six pack down on the tiny round table, property of Polis University. Clearly this was not the hockey players first stop of the night. 

And of course she remembers Clarke’s name. Because she is perfect. And god, how had Clarke forgotten this girl’s accent, and the way she says her name. Clarke’s body reacts with a shiver, as if to say, oh we remember alright. The slow smile on Clarke’s lips spread across her entire face, from dimpled chin, to cheek, to the corners of her eyes. “Hello, Lexa.” She needs to thank Octavia again, as hot hockey player’s – Lexa’s smile widens at Clarke remembering her too. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Lexa opens a beer with a ring she’s wearing and offers it to her. Clarke smiles, declining as she holds up her half drunk beer can, “Sorted, thanks.” Nodding Lexa instead brings the bottle to her own lips.

Clarke blanks, staring at the attractive brunette standing close; staring at her lips, at the length of her neck, at her throat swallow the liquid for longer than is appropriate. All of the countless things she has thought of to say, wanted to ask as she sought out the brunette, all gone – evaporated like the moisture in her mouth. She gulps her beer, appalled with herself. Her eyes follow Lexa’s hands, fidgeting with her bottle, peeling at the edge of the label. 

Finally, Clarke thinks of something, she coughs, “I realize I should have said sorry for your loss last time.” It comes out fast, in a rush of words, “I didn’t realize that that was the night you guys got knocked out of the NCAA semi-finals…and now for bringing up what is probably a still a fresh sore memory…I don’t know why I just said that.” The more words that tumble out of her mouth, the slower they come out. She is killing herself, or her game at least. If either of her roommates were to witness this crash and burn of hers, she would never hear the end of it. To her relief the brunette’s worrying hands still, her smile widens.

“It is alright,” Lexa says, somewhat formally, her accent heavy though light on Clarke’s ears. “You already said so the night we met.” The smirk on her lips infects her green eyes at Clarke’s reaction to her words.

Swallowing hard Clarke dares, “And what exactly did I say?”

“That you were very sorry for our loss, but less sorry because it meant I found my way into your living room.”

Now Clarke’s grin matches Lexa’s. Thank the rugby gods drunk Clarke had game. “Well, first of all I stand by my statement.” A thrill runs down her spine as she sees a blush bloom on high cheekbones. “Secondly, I will admit I may have been a bit inebriated by the time I found you in my living room.”

“Inebriated?” Her brow furrows adorably behind the thick frames of her glasses.

“Drunk.”

“Oh,” Lexa chuckles “I know.” And before Clarke can worry that she made a fool of herself Lexa adds, “I was as well.”

Clarke opens her mouth to respond, and while she has no evidence as her words never hit air, she swears it was going to be something extremely flirty and extremely witty. 

“Clarke, hey!” She freezes, looking over Lexa shoulder to see Niylah walking up to them. She hadn’t noticed who entered the apartment after Lexa.

“Hey, Niylah,” she forces a smile. In all of the scenarios she has dreamed over the last week of running into Lexa again, Niylah was not in a single one.

“Commander,” Niylah nods to Lexa. Clarke raises an eyebrow at the nickname as Lexa nods back to Niylah in greeting. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.” Clarke pulls a long sip from her can, a shield of alcohol and carbonation to delay answering.

“Oh, we go far back,” Lexa quips, causing Clarke to laugh mid gulp. Blue eyes dancing with green over the top of her beer.

“Really?”

“Way back,” Clarke smiles at Lexa, leading green eyes to the couch they had met on and back with her own gaze. About one week and fifteen feet Clarke thinks to herself. 

Clarke presses her shoulder blades hard into the wall behind her as a silence she was unaccustomed to settles in between the three girls. Clarke is never one to not be able to fill silence with words. Conversely, she also hasn’t been stuck in a conversation with someone she had seen naked and someone she wants to see naked in quite some time. God, she hated geometry. She was finding the situation a bit challenging, like proofs and parabolas.

The backdoor opens, drawing the triangle’s attention and Octavia laughs delightedly as she walks in and sees what is in front of her. Sheathed light saber hanging from her belt, she walks up between Lexa and Niylah, joining Clarke’s current shape from hell. Clarke stares hard at her roommate, as if Morse code can be felt with eyes, screaming a silent SOS. Octavia’s laugh dissolves into a wicked smile and Clarke is somehow more nervous than she had been a moment before. She tries to calm her breathing before taking another long pull of her beer, unsure which shoulder Octavia will be jumping down from: the devil off her right or the angel off her left.

“Nala, long time no see.”

Clarke suddenly wonders if a muggle could disparate if they tried hard enough.

“Niylah,” the dirty blonde corrects, “And yeah, I didn’t see you the last time I was here, but it was late.” She throws in a nonchalant shrug.

Clarke is trying really, really hard. But when she opens her eyes again, she is still there, curse non-magical genetics. She takes another drink, eyes locking with green. Lexa is looking at her curiously and Clarke couldn’t help but smile at her. Feeling warmer inside than alcohol alone had reason to cause when Lexa returned it.

“Right,” Octavia nods before she adds just as nonchalantly, “Sorry I’m not good with names.” 

Clarke almost tuts, catching herself at the last minute. Octavia is phenomenal at remembering names. Raven and her relied on Octavia’s prodigious name bank. Clarke, was more selective, if she were honest, guys names just didn’t stick. Or maybe she just didn’t pay as much attention to them. And then there was Raven, who simply did not care. Clarke figured she had enough crammed into that genius head of hers, names fell into the delete-able category of her memory bank. You were lucky if she remembered the immediate nickname she’d come up with ‘touchable butt’ or ‘hot hockey player’ or ‘red flag’. 

Octavia shifts her gaze to the quiet brunette of their odd little quadrilateral, currently curiously watching the interaction over the top of her beer bottle. “Lexa, nice to see you again,” She earns a shy smile from the girl.

Clarke chokes on the last of her beer. Octavia perches her angel’s halo on devil’s horns.

“I’m just going too…” Clarke trails off shaking her empty can and pointing to the refrigerator behind her in the kitchen. “Anyone else?”

“I’ll take one,” Niylah says.

“Great,” Clarke nods. She turns and takes the three steps to the fridge door, resisting the temptation to grab the tequila in the cabinet. 

With the fervor of a kid in it to win it in a game of don’t-touch-the-ground-tag, Clarke hands Niylah a beer managing to not have their hands touch. She opens and marks her own beer, a habit to the point of muscle memory at this point; in the same movement of cracking a beer open she twists the tab to the right. If you were a rugger, you had your mark from your first party as a rookie. Octavia crushes the middle of her can. Raven rips the tab off, the analyst in her always counting her intake the next day. 

Clink. “Merde!” Clarke looks up from her first new sip to see Lexa quickly bring her beer bottle to her lips as a volcano of foam begins to spill over the bottle neck. Anya, Lexa’s teammate and Raven’s lap partner had bottle tapped her. Clarke knew who she was, though they had never officially met.

“Heda, faire des amis je vois?” “Heda, making friends I see?”

Lexa chokes on the beer and foam as she tries to respond. Clarke stares hard at her long, elegant neck working. After another moment, Lexa’s beer half gone she is able to breathe. “Shof op, Anya.” “Shut up, Anya.”

Anya’s laugh is high and clear, “C'est ce que vous obtenez pour ne pas prêter attention. Eh bien, pour ne pas prêter attention à votre bière de toute façon.” “That’s what you get for not paying attention. Well, for not paying attention to your beer anyway.” 

“Que voulez-vous, Anya?” “What do you want, Anya?” Lexa rolls her eyes.

“Up for owning these rugby girls in some drinking games?” Anya’s accent is pronounced, though not as thick and clumsy as Lexa’s. 

Lexa shakes her head, and Clarke watches the whole interaction with interest as the girls flit between languages. Octavia makes an offended noise.

“Bien,” Anya turns to the dirty blonde, “Niylah, my lab partner has too much confidence in her drinking game abilities for not being a hockey player, help me knock her down a few pegs?”

Niylah hesitates looking at Clarke, waiting for her to protest, but when the blonde doesn’t move she grins at Anya. “Lets go put the rugby player in her place,” She says, throwing Clarke a bold wink before walking off with Anya to the couches where Raven was facilitating a large group in what Clarke thinks is quarters. “See you later, Clarke.”

“Well,” Octavia says after a moment, “Not that Raven needs any help, but I’m a bit offended and am going to go help defend rugby’s honor.” She turns to follow the two hockey girls into the living room. “Have fun you two.” 

A wave of relief washes over Clarke as she finds herself alone with Lexa again.

“So you’re bilingual?” Clarke asks turning her attention back to the brunette.

“Not bi,” Lexa corrects her hands back to fidgeting with the bottle label, “tri.”

Clarke couldn’t help the smirk that blossoms on her lips, the shear volume of sexual innuendos that come to mind overloading her tongue, holding it down from saying anything, which is probably for the best. She quirks an eyebrow.

“French, Trigedasleng, and English,” Lexa counts off each one on a long, elegant finger Clarke finds herself suddenly fixating on. “English is my worst, to be honest,” The brunette confesses with a shy smile. “I didn’t have to speak it at my last school.”

Clarke’s eyes snap up from those fingers and what she wanted to do with them, to the shy green eyes that have haunted her since last weekend. “We can fix that,” she smiles, her hand brushing Lexa’s bicep, and god it felt like warm marble, “You’ll just have to talk to me all the time, get your practice in” she earns another shy smile from the brunette and Clarke finds it exhilarating. 

“I think you sound great though, you don’t even want to hear how terrible I would be at French or any other language. Besides, you making the unintentional sexual innuendo from time to time, even better in my book.” She watches the shy smile grow into a full one, witnesses the birth of a fresh red blush skate across the hockey players high cheekbones. Clarke grins like the cat who got the cream, wondering how many more times she can be the cause of that.

“I think French would sound nice on your tongue.” Lexa replies, not realizing she was providing another example of what Clarke was just talking about. Clarke’s cheeks hurt with the size of the smile on her face. She wants to say she thinks French would taste good on her tongue, but bites her lips instead. 

Lexa is still playing with the label of her beer, half of it dangling off the glass, Clarke noticing the brand for the first time. She laughs, “Does that say Griffin?” Her hand wraps around Lexa’s wrist, pulling it up to see the bottle more clearly.

“Yes, Griffin Rousse, it’s one of my favorites,” Lexa explains, not getting why Clarke is so excited, “It’s a Canadian beer, I always stock up before coming across the border, you don’t have it in the US.”

“Oh my god, I need a picture of this,” Clarke pulls out her phone. She grins wickedly, “One of your favorites you say?”

Lexa nods. Clarke saves a picture and sends off a snapchat before putting her phone away. Hand never letting go of Lexa’s wrist, the brunette opens her mouth to ask something.

“Hey, Griffin!”

Clarke, lifts her gaze off Lexa, the two still standing in each others space in the kitchen doorway. Raven’s head pops out from the open door at the top of the stairs to the basement. Apparently quarters had ended.

“What?” Clarke replies and Lexa’s eyes go wide connecting her favorite beer with the girl still holding her wrist.

Raven walks towards the two, sizing Lexa up, “You’re a forward right?”

Lexa nods.

“Your good right? Good aim?”

Lexa smirks, “Yes.” And Clarke finds herself buzzing at the brunettes sudden show of confidence.

“Good.” Raven nods her head in approval before looking back over to Clarke, “Griffin, unless you’re planning on blocking the kitchen door all night, grab your hot hockey player and meet me in the Ark After Dark.” Clarke feels a blush blaze across her cheeks. “We have some delinquents downstairs who think they are going to win the night on my civil war field.” 

The night of the rules manifesto and the wall’s creation, Raven had also picked the lock to the basement. It had been a productive night. The roommates had quickly turned it into a party space, relegating all games with the propensity for spilt beer to the basement. The basements in the university townhouses had been blocked off to students, something about it being a fire hazard, and that was before Raven teched it out. She had dubbed their basement “Ark After Dark” in homage to the name of their apartment complex.

“I’m sorry, your civil war field?”

“Yes, mine.” Raven defends as she heads back toward the basement. “It was these skilled hands that broke into the basement,” she adds wriggling her fingers like she was a cheerleader in Bring It On. 

Clarke laughs, eyes connecting with green again. “What do you say, hot hockey player?” She feels emboldened as she says it, even more so when Lexa blushes. “Care to see if you can keep up?”

The blushing brunette grins with a nod, beer label fully peeled off the bottle by her restive hands “I’ll do my best to carry you two rugby players to victory,” An eyebrow raised in challenge, she reaches over Clarke and adds the “Griffin” beer label to the wall, to the original poster board that started The Wall, smoothing it flat with her hand to ensure it stuck.

Clarke’s breath hitches at the proximity of Lexa, the pulse of their body heat pushing against one another’s like magnetic fields. She finally let’s go of Lexa’s wrist, their faces inches from one another, breathing in the others carbon dioxide. She is enveloped in sandalwood and cinnamon and something citrus as the brunette is leaning over her left shoulder. She gasps mock insult, tapping down her fluster, silently thrilled by this mix of shy and confident she is being treated to. “Well then, big talker, lead the way.” 

Stepping back, Lexa shoots her a smirk that does things to the pit of Clarke’s stomach. Shoulder blades still anchored against the wall, she watches Lexa open two more ‘Griffins’, handing her one. Lexa winks, grabbing her last unopened beer in her free hand as she ventures toward the stairs Raven disappeared down. Like a green flame winking in the night, Clarke is a moth chasing after.

Clarke skips after the tall brunette, not needing to duck where the hockey player dips her head descending the stairs. The Ark After Dark has low ceilings and cinderblock walls. Two bare light bulbs rest dark next to the multi-color dance floor lighting, currently in motion casting rainbows of light and shadows around the space. As a pet project, Raven was slowly kitting out the basement with tech she had repaired. Similar to the wall in the dining room, graffiti slowly tattooed the cinderblock walls. Unlike the dining room walls though, the writing was with sharpie, directly on the walls, and without reverence. Most of it consisted of rugby lyrics and game wait lists. Two pong tables that were constructed from doors propped on wooden saw horses were living on the dance floor. A game currently down to its last cups, Clarke side steps Octavia diving for a ping pong ball.

“Where did you get the doors?” Lexa asks curiously.

“Rookies’ closets,” Clarke grins as they walk over to Raven. Perks of being a vet.

“Alright, what should our team name be? It looks like the boys next door are going to beat O’s team and there is no way I am losing to those delinquents.” Raven says as she looks at her two teammates who are staring at each other. “Team gay?” she sasses to no response. “Team gay it is.” She grabs the sharpie attached to the wall by a piece of masking tape and a shoelace and writes TEAM GAY under the game order list. “We’re next.” She eyes the two teams playing. 

Clarke blinks as Raven snaps in between her and Lexa’s faces. “Focus!” she demands before turning her attention to Lexa who stares at the game going on her brow furrowed. “Have you ever played civil war before?” Lexa shakes her head.

“Dammit, we got a rookie,” Raven says, “Well hopefully you’ll have some beginners luck. Okay, so it’s like beer pong, only way better. Each team is at their own table, see how they’re horizontal to each other? Great, so the floor in between is the war zone. Each of us will have our own mini triangle of cups set up like you would a pong game, other team too. Three balls going at once, since were three on three. You try to get out their cups. If someone lands your cup, you have to drink it before you can use or pass off the ball that landed in it. That’s important. I hope you can chug.” She adds giving Clarke a glare. 

“Just because I can’t chug doesn’t mean I’m a hindrance.” Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Disgrace to rugby,” Raven mutters before continuing, “Once you get all of someone cups, they’re out. So the best people, like myself, get targeted first.” Lexa nods that she understands the rules so far. “Okay best part, so if a ball bounces into the war zone, it is up for grabs – literally. You dive for that ball. You fight for that ball. You tackle for that ball. That ball is ours.” At this Lexa grins, causes Raven to grin. “Good answer.”

Lexa tosses her first cup back and began coughing abruptly. “Jok!” 

“What? Are you okay?” Clarke asks, wrapping her hand around the brunette’s still holding the now empty cup.

“What is this?” Lexa coughs.

Clarke looked in her own cups, lifted one up and sniffs, her face instantly scrunching up to the familiar strong smell, akin to a mix of rubbing alcohol and fruit punch. “Raven!” she yells at her friend on the other side of her at the table, “We’re playing with your Rocket Fuel?!” 

Raven grins at her as she picks up a bouncing ball and shoots it at Monty’s last cup on the other table.

“Okay,” Clarke turns to Lexa who looks like she could still feel the beverage burning her insides. “This is Raven’s own concoction. It’s strong, so don’t lose, and be prepared to get drunk.” Lexa grins at her and nods.

Two games later they are the defending table, playing the victory match against “Team Straight” as Raven had dubbed them, in contrast to her own team. It progressed innocently, the shot celebrations between Clarke and Lexa: high-five to hug to kiss on the cheek. When Clarke hit a bouncing shot (whether it was intentional or not, she would take to the grave), forcing two of an opponents three remaining cups out, she turns to Lexa with a grin on her face. Lexa kisses it. It’s quick and chaste and innocent, but the look they share afterward, inches apart, is anything but. Clarke’s hands snake around the back of Lexa’s neck, onto her cheek and she pulls the taller girl down and forward, connecting their lips. God, her lips are soft. So soft. How Clarke imagines clouds should feel. Her head feels like how it would actually feel to land in clouds, like she was falling through space and it was the most delicious thing in the world.  
Lexa kisses her back with equal force, strong arms wrapping around Clarke’s waist, those restless hands splayed, traversing from hips, across the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“Hey!” Raven shouts over the music, they are mid game, “Team Gay, stop being so gay and shoot a fucking ball!” She looks over at her two teammates, currently making out, enthusiastically. She swats a ball that bounces on the table then dives after it underneath and into the battle ground between their table and the other teams, wrapping her hand around the ping pong ball in a spectacular layout that would make Harry Potter in a finals quidditch match against Slytherin proud. She crawls back to their table and takes a breath. “I swear to Steve Jobs, if I lose my undefeated title in civil war because you two finally got your shit together, there is a river out back and no one will find the bodies.” She huffs as she tosses the ball and sinks another cup. “Ha! Take that!” She woops, “Damn I’m good.”

Her victory dance is cut short as Wick lands a shot into one of her cups with a thunk. “Fuck.” She picks up the cup and starts to chug. She can’t shoot until it’s empty. She looks over at her teammates again, now against the wall behind their table. Enough. She is not good enough of a wingman to give up her title for this. She grabs Clarke by the collar of her shirt and pulls her off the hockey player. Dumbfounded, Clarke glares at her as she stumbles back toward the table, Raven’s grip still firm, she matches the intensity of blonde. “Do your fucking job, you can fuck her after.”

Clarke’s eyes widen at her friends words, her gaze snapping back to Lexa, still leaning against the cinderblock wall, pulling air into her lungs as if she’s been underwater for hours. Clarke feels the same way, trying to settle the erratic tempo of her heart in her chest. Her eyes flick between green eyes and swollen lips like a metronome, the intensity of green eyes burning into her like wildfire.

“Focus!” Raven shouts as she picks up one of Clarke’s cups and hands it to her. “I need that ball, hurry up.” Clarke shakes her head and downs the cup, handing Raven the ball. “Good girl.”

Raven takes another shot and when she next looks over at her teammates she sees the hockey player sink a shot. “Oh thank Steve Jobs.”

“We won!” Clarke shouts sometime later as Raven lands the last cup of the last remaining opponent at the table across from them. Bellamy curses.

Raven mirrors Clarke’s movements, her hands up in victory. “Thank Jobs.” She breathes, taking the repurposed plastic wresting belt off the wall and placing it around her waist. “And no thanks to you two! If I had lost this to Bellamy and his goons because of you two…” she looked between her two teammates, “murder.”

“How Raven of you,” Clarke quips.

Raven burst out laughing. “Griffin, it’s a good thing you’re funny. You’re not cute enough alone to put up with.” Raven turns to the losing team of boys across the room from her and moves her hands from the center of the large plastic belt at her crotch, down the sides to her hips, in a taunting victory dance.

“I think you’re cute enough,” Clarke hears whispered in her ear, and turns grinning, to see a drunk Lexa staring at her with those green eyes, her fresh hands pushing thick frames back up her nose.

“Do you?” Clarke slurs slightly, her grin widening as she drapes her arms around Lexa’s shoulders.

Lexa blinks at the closeness and nods her head, staring at Clarke’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudos, subscribed, and commented! The feedback is very much a motivator.
> 
> Also, feel free to send any questions my way either in the comments or at my tumblr @quesandgays
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to anyone celebrating!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven lost it. She guffawed, and bellowed, and wheezed delightedly; the kind of laughter that requires the whole body. Her laughs echoing around the small bedroom until tears were streaming down her face. “Griffin,” she says between gasps for air, “You simultaneously astound me and offend me with the highs and lows of your game.”
> 
> OR
> 
> The morning after the party and team gay's victory and some party fill in the blanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, sorry this took longer to post than I anticipated! At this point it looks like I'll be updating about every two weeks. I blame this on currently working on a few other fics I have yet to post. What can I say, I get distracted easily by shiny things aka other fic ideas. If anyone is interested, I can let you know the other fic prompts and see which you would prefer I focus on getting out of the hopper next.
> 
> I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. On that note: writer seeking beta - if anyone is interested
> 
> Rated Mature swearing, drunken shenanigans, and future smut.  
> I do not own the characters - just appreciate.

CHAPTER 3

“Damn, Griffin,” Raven says in the open doorway, pulling Clarke from her sleep. She blurrily opens one eye from her spot burrowed in bed to see an Octavia head, poking up over Raven’s shoulder curiously. “I don’t know whether to be disappointed or impressed that there isn’t a hockey player in your bed right now.”

Clarke curses at them. Was it too much to ask to be able to wake up naturally the morning after a party? 

“Why do I feel like death?” Clarke groans out once accepting she couldn’t just ignore her two roommates and they would disappear, “I’m dying, leave me.” It feels like a true statement, at the very least she was going to be sick.

“No can do,” Octavia replies, “Gustus is setting up a table for ten of us at the diner and you are not making me a liar to him.”

“Oh, and you probably feel like death because someone was feeling chivalrous last night and kept drinking their girlfriend’s cups of rocket fuel on top of their own during civil war.” Raven interjects.

Clarke grumbles at the thought of the copious amounts of the mixed drink she had consumed, wincing at the thought of her actions after said consumption.

“I can’t complain too much though,” Raven muses from the doorway. “That is the best chugging I’ve ever seen you do. And I am including initiation in that statement. I mean, once I pulled two-thirds of team gay apart by the lips, we did alright.”

Clarke jerks forward at the memories of the previous night flowing back. It was as if she had stared into the sun too long, the black spots of the previous night slowly coming into clear view blink by blink. Immediately placing her head in her hands, taking deep breaths, she eventually peaks through a gap in her fingers and notices the civil war champion belt still firmly around Raven’s waist. “Did you sleep in that?”

“Damn straight I did,” Raven says, “I almost lost this last night because you couldn’t keep your paws off our other teammate. Next time I’m in the middle.” She pauses, making a face, “Not like that…I just meant as a divider…you know what, lets just pretend I didn’t say that.”

Octavia laughs.

Clarke lays back down in continued protest, covering her head with her blanket. A moment later she feels a dip in the bed at her side. “Why are you upset?” Octavia asks, “From what I hear and witnessed you had a pretty successful night.” Light bursts behind her eyelids as Octavia pulls the blanket back down.

“Yeah,” Raven adds, “Which is why we invited some of the hockey girls to breakfast. So you’re welcome.”

“You did what?” Clarke groans louder. “No, I ruined it.” She digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, failing at shutting out the world. “Oh, this is going to be so awkward.”

Raven and Octavia exchange a look, “Why, what’d you do?”

Clark turns onto her side, pushing her face deeper into her pillow, mumbling into it.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Octavia says, “I don’t speak fluent pillow. Can you repeat that?”

“I said,” Clarke whines, removing her face from her bedding, “I booted on her shoes.”

Raven lost it. She guffawed, and bellowed, and wheezed delightedly; the kind of laughter that requires the whole body. Her laughs echoing around the small bedroom until tears were streaming down her face. “Griffin,” she says between gasps for air, “You simultaneously astound me and offend me with the highs and lows of your game.”

Octavia shakes her head sympathetically, “Hey, doesn’t mean you ruined it. Buy her breakfast or something, lay on the Griffin charm.”

“Yeah just don’t spew it all over her, again.”

“Not helpful Raven.”

Raven snickers, “Sorry, low hanging fruit and I’m weak.”

“Go without me.”

“Not happening,” Octavia states, “When the horse bucks you off, you gotta just get back on it.”

Raven opens her mouth to add to Octavia’s horse analogy, but is cut off by the sharp pain of Octavia cuffing the back of her head. “Ow!”

“Get up,” Octavia commands turning back to her despondent friend, “You gotta face her at some point. Might as well be now. Besides, I know you feel like shit and we both know the only cure to that is coffee and greasy food.”

Clarke clutches her stomach, “Please don’t talk about food right now.”

“Up.”

 

\--

 

Clarke plops into a seat by one end of the multiple tables pushed together. Immediately placing her head down on the chipped linoleum surface with a dull thud. Gustus pats her gently on the shoulder as he comes buy with a few pitchers of water and then their usual coffee orders as they wait for the rest of their group to arrive.

She doesn’t move until the sound of a chair scraping against tile and she turns her head toward the noise to see Lexa take the seat at the foot of the table, adjacent to her. She gives Clarke a shy, small smile and Clarke tries to return it, but she has a sneaking suspicion it looks more like a grimace. 

It’s loud in the diner. A normal Saturday morning volume in a college town. And their table is loud within the loud space. Clarke tries to block it out as she resigns to the fact that she is dying in a diner, on a table, in front of her crush. Octavia, on her left side, orders for her when Gustus comes by, now that everyone is seated. He chuckles “I think I know who at this table had the best night last night.” The table laughs over Clarke’s groan; she closes her eyes missing Lexa’s concerned glance.

“Yeah she did!” Raven quips from the other end of the table, earning a few chuckles from various friends and a blush.

The conversation lobs over Clarke as she slowly feels the alcohol seep from her pores. She wonders if she will contaminate the diner air at this point. Octavia elbows her in the ribs. “Octavia, unless that violence in an attempt to speed up my imminent slow death, don’t.”

“You’re hungover, we get it. You’re so dramatic. Now stop being so rude, drink your coffee, and be social.”

“I was social last night, look where it got me,” she mumbled into the table.

“Oh we all saw where it got you last night,” Raven cut into the conversation from down the table, earning a cacophony of laughs from a mix of rugby and hockey.

Clarke replies with her middle finger, but sits up regardless of the fact that she knows this is Raven’s goal. Her eyes snap to Lexa while she grips the table in an attempt to slow the spinning of the room. The last thing she wants is for her shy, hot hockey player to be embarrassed by her asshole friends. She ignores the fact she just referred to Lexa as hers. White knuckles and a fresh wave of nausea are worth the view of the blush that blooms across high cheekbones. She is about to tell Raven off when a shy smile joins the colorful flush on Lexa’s gorgeous face and they lock eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Their faces sport matching grins as Gustus arrives with their food. Maybe breakfast wasn’t a terrible idea.

Gustus drops a plate in front of her and she stares at it as if it has offended her. Food sounds like a terrible idea. She smells the bacon in the air and her stomach flips. She takes a deep breath and forces herself two bites. Octavia was right, this is exactly what she needed. She really has to give Octavia more credit. She exhales gratefully as the room has ceased its spinning. She risks a sip of delicious coffee and hums before placing the third bite to her lips and drops her fork. Her stomach flips. This was a terrible idea. She scrapes her chair back loudly and pushes away from the table, running for the bathroom.

She makes it, barely. Wrenching open the single bathroom door and shutting it behind her as she lunges for the toilet. Clarke vomits into the porcelain bowl and she tries not to think about how close her face is to it. And what else has been even closer. She takes slow deep breathes attempting to calm her body down once there is nothing left in it to throw up.

After a few more minutes she sighs, splashes cold water on her face before daring to look in the mirror. Gripping the edges of the sink, she braces herself to face the table again. To face Lexa again, after booting, again. Though at least this time, it wasn’t on the poor girls shoes. 

 

~~

 

_Clarke fists her hand into the front of Lexa’s t-shirt as she pulls her lips away from the brunette’s. The room is full of people, but she only sees one. Hand firmly gripping the material of her shirt, Clarke leads Lexa up the basement stairs and through her apartment to the kitchen. With more force than necessary, she pushes the hockey player against the counter, as if putting her on a shelf for safe keeping. Lexa doesn’t seem to mind the rough direction, leaning forward from her new perch and capturing the bossy blonde’s lips. Clarke’s whole body buzzes in response. The kiss is all lips, soft and demanding. When she feels a tongue swipe temptingly across her bottom lip Clarke grins as she breaks the kiss. Locking her elbow to force distance, she keeps her hand firmly rooted in the cotton against Lexa’s sternum._

_“Stay,” she doesn’t know if she says it with her eyes or her mouth, but Lexa nods. Clarke relaxes her grip on the now rumbled cotton, gently smoothing it flat with her hand as blue eyes remain locked with green. Remembering why she brought them here in the first place, she shifts her focus to the refrigerator and pulls the door open, grabbing two beers they don’t need._

_Beers in hand, Clarke steps away towards the open doorway. She crooks the index finger of her free hand, beckoning Lexa to follow as she exits the kitchen. Lexa lurches forward as if on an invisible leash, trailing behind the blonde._

_Clarke walks through the tiny living room and opens the backdoor to the outside. The noise of the party instantly muffled as she shuts the door behind Lexa and they’re finally separated from the rest of the party going on inside. Clarke breathes the crisp night air in deep, it is soothing after the thick air of too many warm bodies in a confined space. Alone on the back slab of concrete that Octavia calls the back stoop. It’s maybe the size of the raft Rose said Jack couldn’t fit on in the Titanic (he could have fit). Lexa leans against the side paneling next to the door, the yellow glow of the backlight illuminating the sharp angles of her face from above._

_They both sip their beers, regarding each other. The quiet cold air seems to have the opposite effect Clarke is expecting it to have, suddenly feeling the mix of everything she has consumed throughout night. She lowers the can from her lips. Blue eyes flit a trail down Lexa’s body: green eyes, glowing cheekbones, freshly kissed lips, long fingers fidgeting with the tab of her beer. She blinks slow before retracing to the beginning of her path, passing a smirking mouth before settling on burning green eyes. The corner of Lexa’s lips pulls up as her fingers still their restless motion. A long finger hooks through Clarke’s belt loop and tugs her forward with the slightest of movements._

_Her heart bangs against her ribs, the space suddenly seeming too small. The warmth Clarke feels in her chest and between her legs is outmatched by a sudden flip of her stomach. Before she can connect with her goal, her stomach revolts and she jerks back._

 

~~

 

Clarke stops abruptly as she exits the bathroom. Leaning against the wall next to the door is Lexa. Pure mortification runs through Clarke’s body for not the first time in the last twenty-four hours and she hopes this isn’t a new habit forming. “Sorry if you had to wait,” She sighs with resignation to her game, and to ever having a chance with this girl. This hot girl with unbelievably kissable lips. She momentarily debates if it will be worse now, knowing how lovely they are to kiss than if she had never known first hand.

That shy smile pulls at the corner of the hockey player’s lips again, “I do not need the bathroom, I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

Something besides the urge to be sick flutters in Clarke’s stomach. She takes a deep breath, forcing her rebellious stomach to cooperate. “Lexa, I am so sorry.”

Lexa shakes her head, “Clarke, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” Clarke deflates, coloring burning a trail from her neck up her cheeks. “I threw up on you. And for the record, I am mortified.”

Lexa smiles warmly at the fiercely embarrassed blonde. “It wasn’t really on me, more just my shoes.” She says softly, disarming Clarke with a half smile that pulls up one corner of plump lips as it tugs at strings in Clarke’s chest. 

She knows Lexa is trying to absolve her of her guilt, but it runs to deep, a mix of embarrassment and disappointment. “Which I will wash, along with your socks…” She rubs her face with both hands, exerting a mass amount of effort to not stay hidden behind them. “It’s first on my to do list, once breakfast is over, and I no longer feel like death, or after I die, whichever comes first…” she rambles.

Lexa’s smile spreads to the other corner of her mouth, to the edges of her eyes. “Clarke, I said it was fine,” she repeats as she gently tugs at Clarke’s wrists. The blonde’s hands had stopped halfway down her face, covering her mouth as of she had just witnessed a horrific crash. Clarke’s attention is distracted by the warmth of soft hands on her wrists before she can ruminate that it’s her game crashing, driver at fault, creating a twenty car pile up. She nods, swallowing before the emptiness of her stomach can try and resume its riot. 

“Let’s go sit back down?” Lexa suggests, not taking her hand off of Clarke’s wrist as she leads her back over to the table. “I can even fluff your pillow for you if you’d like,” she adds, ghosting a smile at her own joke. 

Clarke can’t help but laugh, when Lexa slides her barely touched plate of food out of the way so Clarke can put her head back down on the table. She spends the rest of the meal taking calculated breathes fighting back the nausea and the sudden urge to purr as Lexa ceaselessly rubs soothing circles on her back.

 

\--

 

Clarke walks slow, stalling her steps as she tags along behind with Lexa, the rest of their friends full and happy, boisterously walking ahead in the parking lot. Neither seeming to want to go their respective ways.

“I am sorry, again,” Clarke apologizes, again. Her stomach somewhat settled now, unsure if it was the praying to the rugby gods and swearing off Raven’s rocket fuel or Lexa’s backrub that did the trick.

“Clarke,” Lexa also repeats, that quiet smile at the edge of her lips, and Clarke feels a rush at click of consonants on Lexa’s tongue. “Stop apologizing. It’s not everyday I get a girl to do my laundry.”

Clarke laughs, they’ve reached the middle of the parking lot, both sets of friends in cars. She gets a surge confidence, “Let me see your phone.” 

Lexa furrows her brow before pulling her phone out of her pocket, hesitating, “You’re not going to throw up on this too, correct?” she teases before handing it over. Clarke swats at her arm, stamping down her embarrassment as she is once again reminded of how jacked the girl in front of her is. But she smiles again at the ease in which Lexa hands her phone over. She taps at the screen, entering her number before rifling off a text to herself.

Their fingers brush as Clarke hands back the girls phone. “See you around hot stuff.”

Lexa blushes as she watches Clarke walk over to Octavia’s car.

 

\--

 

Lexa feels her phone vibrate in her back pocket, sitting in Anya’s car on the drive back to campus. She pulls it out to see a next text from “My Favorite Griffin”. She grins.

Anya laughs glancing over at the brunette, “Qu'est-ce qui te fait sourire comme ça?” _“What’s got you smiling like that?”_

“Rien.” _“Nothing.”_

Anya tsked a disbelieving noise her focus staying on the road. 

Lexa swipes open the conversation, her grin spreading over her entire face. Clarke had texted herself from Lexa’s phone and was now responding to herself.

[11:13am]: Hey Clarke! This is Lexa, that exceedingly hot hockey player 

that you booted on and who is way to understanding about it. 

[11:14am]: Who Clarke is going to ask if she can make it up to sometime.

[11:14am]: And will totally say yes when she does.

My Favorite Griffin [11:17am]: Again, mortification  
and the sincerest apology cannot begin to describe  
how I feel. Let me make it up to you?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudos, subscribed, and commented! The feedback is very much a motivator. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Also, feel free to send any questions my way either in the comments or at my tumblr http://quesandgays.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> I have the next few chapters outlined. Should I keep going?
> 
> Also feel free to send any questions my way either in the comments or at my tumblr @quesandgays


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